


In The Language Of Flowers An Iris

by Phrenotobe



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Depression, Disassociation, Don’t copy to another site, F/F, FE Femslash Week 2019, Past Oboro/Hinata, Recovery after trauma, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt, Takumi and Hinata are referenced heavily, but I'm going to be polite to their fans and not tag them so I don't ruin somebody's day, i promise this will have an optimistic ending in 10 chapters, repairing yourself after loss, unfortunately I have only written four
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-16
Updated: 2019-07-16
Packaged: 2020-06-29 10:12:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19827994
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phrenotobe/pseuds/Phrenotobe
Summary: Oboro helps Hinata, when their lord doesn't need him any more. it shook them both to see Lord Takumi, moving like a marionette under tangled strings, notching an arrow on that bow and leasing it while he talked, eyes and chin not even aligned with the point."Why are you here?" Oboro asks."Because you are a fool," Rinkah says, and grabs Oboro by one arm, hoisting her up to her feet by one elbow and holding her there even as her knees fall out underneath her. “Because your shopkeeps saw you leave with a rope when you already smelled of blood. Because I have tried to find you, to meet you, for a month, and nobody knew where you went."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this to cope with some stuff so  
> uh  
> please reach out if you need help, even if you feel like you shouldn't or can't.  
> I promise that people care about you.

Oboro helps Hinata, when their lord doesn't need him any more. it shook them both to see Lord Takumi, moving like a marionette under tangled strings, notching an arrow on that bow and leasing it while he talked, eyes and chin not even aligned with the point. 

The side of Hinata's neck is bare and free of scars. She brings the sword down in an arc, dizzy with surprise at the blood she sees. The blade drops with a clatter on the dark wood, and Hinata curls up and bleeds. She’s frozen before she runs out into the yard, out into the street and the lights and past the food carts, the startled passers-by. The scent of blood runs all the way with her, inescapable. 

After it, there's a freeing kind of numbness. When Takumi fell it was as though all her joy, all her laughter, had spiraled down a deep well somewhere inside her, and been dragged on bamboo stakes on the way. She returns to a dark house to change her clothes and wash her face and hands, half-expecting Hinata to walk back in at any moment, saying 'Hey, what'cha doing?' and digging his hands into the tub to agitate the water with her. 

Well he is there, in a way. The water blooms red with cold water, then dusky rose when she adds the soap. By the third rinse, he's a faint pink tint that won't go away. 

She leaves her second best and first favourite clothes to soak, and autopilots back into the room where she left him on her way to do something else. The rankness doesn't register until she steps in his blood, retches dryly, and staggers off in a different direction.   
The wood will stain. The carpet will stain. Her clothes are stained. 

She goes about the rest of her business, changing her clothes for a third time and going into town. She runs through her shopping list like it means anything, and buys what the list says she needs. Needles and pins, ribbons and string. It’s comfortingly, numbingly dull, and she doesn't linger to make conversation past the rote pleasantries. In her shop, she arrives without speaking, letting the bell ring her arrival. After adding up the accounts, Oboro marks the next design in chalk and signs it off loosely. On her way out, she takes a length of rope. She checks the room one last time. Hinata is gone. Hinata’s blood is still there. Bloody footprints criss-cross the floor. She can’t tell what happened after she left. 

in the morning, she stares into the empty larder and then closes the door. By mid-afternoon, her legs are tied with rope. She sits and contemplates the pale handle of her knife, trying to connect the dots between point A, the point at which Takumi is gone, and point B, which is the short amount of time she'll have before her duties are complete. She lifts the knife.  
It is with utter surprise that she is interrupted in her duties. Rinkah's fist connects smartly with her cheek, and the knife falls and rolls across the floor. She's rocked by the impact, dazed and unsure. She wouldn't have noticed her coming in at all anyway. 

"Don't you dare," Rinkah says.   
Rinkah’s eyes are burning from the inside, her chest rising and falling like she's been running long enough to be winded. Her hands are still clenched into fists. Oboro doesn't care about any of these things, but she’s usually got an eye for detail. 

Rinkah's hands are on the rope holding her together, setting her free. It is with great, put-upon acceptance, that Oboro realizes there will be more to do until she gets to the end of this trial.

"Why are you here?" she asks.  
"Because you are a fool," Rinkah says, and grabs Oboro by one arm, hoisting her up to her feet by one elbow and holding her there even as her knees fall out underneath her. “Because your shopkeeps saw you leave with a rope when you already smelled of blood. Because I have tried to find you, to meet you, for a month, and nobody knew where you went."

She sniffs the air, coughs and screws up her face.   
Oboro doesn't know how long she's been sitting down, but actually standing is a problem. She stumbles and leans, flinching when she touches bare skin. Rinkah in truth is mostly bare skin, at least where Oboro ends up putting her hands.   
"I came as fast as I could once your women told me. What is this foolishness?"  
"Lord Takumi is-"  
"Dead. Yes. Enough of your crying. Pack for a journey. I think it's time."  
Oboro opens her mouth to protest, but doesn't know what for.   
"I can't," she eventually manages.   
The feeling is finally coming back into her feet. 

Rinkah still shuffles her off to her rooms to pack, chivvying her along, never once leaving her to rest. It is probably for the best, because if Oboro pauses for more than a minute, she's faintly certain that she'll just sit down and stay there.   
Her rooms are full of Hinata's things; breezy kimono waiting to be darned; blankets she'd folded with him, waiting for Lord Takumi's return. Lord Takumi's furs, still waiting for the end of the war to be properly buried and mourned. She remembers loving Hinata, his grin and his eyes and his strength; he'd given her the band on her finger and promised her his life. But there was no time for a wedding, with the war, and they'd promised to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

Lord Takumi was not just an honour to serve. He was prickly, bristling with intensity and a heart that burned with a need to get better, to become outstanding. They'd called their dedication out to him, pleading for his return, waiting for the day that he'd come back to them. They'd found him shivering, proclaiming his uselessness as he attacked his own family, self-worth in shreds and obviously cursed. 

And if Takumi was so empty, they had failed to love him as retainers should; kept it for themselves and each other, a waste of their skills and of their focus. But they had thought they loved him, deeply and fully.   
Oboro had loved them. She knew she had. But it hadn't been enough. 

"Don't just sit there," Rinkah says, "Sturdy boots!"   
Oboro pulls out an old pair she's never worn. 

The road out is dark, and muddy. Her third best clothes are in her pack, and she’s wearing the old things from the war, the things she can put on half-asleep, without thinking. Oboro doesn’t like thinking. Rinkah holds on to her arm and keeps walking, keeps dragging her along. When it last is nightfall, Rinkah spreads a waxed square of cloth out, lights a fire with crisp efficiency, and sets up a tent. Once everything is set up, she douses her fire and shuffles Oboro into the tent to sleep.   
Oboro allows herself to be pulled in, lays down on the bedroll in her day clothes and listens to the sound of Rinkah’s breathing. Rinkah extrudes heat like a campfire does, long after the fire outside has gone. Wrapping arms around herself, she tries not to think; the resulting emptiness and sadness whirling around means she doesn’t know when she drops off to sleep. 

The next morning brings another drag. Rinkah bustles and Oboro follows, taking her time as she moves from newly-struck fire to the cooking pot. it’s a heady mixture and she recognizes the smell as something good, but her mouth is dry and it makes her feel sick.   
“You’ll have to learn to eat like you’re in the fire tribe,” Rinkah says, handing her a bowl of stew.  
Oboro just stares at it for a while as it cools in her hands.   
“Come on,” Rinkah urges, “Just a sip. Make it count.”  
Oboro opens her mouth slowly, and tips it down.   
She tastes it, but doesn't register what it is. Swallowing is difficult, and she looks at Rinkah, wondering if she'll be given more orders. Rinkah takes the bowl from her hands, gives Oboro a smile she doesn't deserve and takes a drink from the same place.   
Rinkah passes the bowl back to Oboro. There's less soup in it. Much less. If she takes another small sip or fakes one, she can give it back. Oboro fumbles the bowl when she has it in her hands, tries to drink what she can and ends up with a mouthful she can't swallow. Rinkah's hot hand rubs her back in slow, even circles and takes the bowl away.   
Oboro swallows what she can, and coughs.   
"I can't," she creaks, "I can't."  
"It's done," Rinkah says, "You did it. There's no more soup."   
Oboro thinks it's a lie, but she curls up her knees and rests her chin on them, staring into the flame. It burns, and her mind empties down to nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

The country is wet and full of mud; even practical shoes get covered over with clay and ruined. Oboro doesn't feel like she deserves nice things any more.   
“Just a little further,” Rinkah says for the fifth day in a row. 

Oboro takes a step, and then another, and stops. The horizon seems distant, unchanging, a mist over the wet yellow grass, rained-on and dead. Rinkah marches on for a few meters before she glances back to check where Oboro is. Oboro expects Rinkah’s temper to fire, bracing herself to let the words wash over her. 

Rinkah walks back over her own trail, breaking into a jog to meet her faster. She takes Oboro by the hand and gently tugs her into movement, her other hand coming around to hold her forearm and keep her steady. 

“We’ll make camp soon,” Rinkah says, “And then we can turn around and look how far we got.”   
Oboro doesn’t want to, but she nods, and fixes a little smile on her face, pinning it there and feeling how fake it is. The longer she tries, the more she wants to cry, but Rinkah grins up into her face, her hands warm and rough at the base of her fingers. 

“You look hungry,” Rinkah says, holding contact with her past the point that Oboro thinks she deserves it, “I’ll find something for us.”  
Oboro has never felt less hungry. She hasn’t eaten, but she doesn’t want to tell a lie.   
Rinkah sets down the mat and sets up the fire, stacking the bags where they’ll not be damp. 

It’s safe to say that emptiness makes things difficult not by the way it makes you sad, but that it tears away motivation; it breaks down the guiding force that tells your soul it belongs in this world. But there are things to live for, if you can find them. Oboro trudges slowly to the tent pack and draws on the string so that it uncurls. Long poles, waterproof cloth and bits of string, with metal bits and pieces to deal with. She hates it. Rinkah will be back soon enough. But Oboro can prepare the tent and set it up for when she arrives. She unfolds the tent and the paper that explains how to use it, reading instructions that dissolve as her attention does. She counts every piece up, sets it aside on top of the waterproof cloth. 

Rinkah finds Oboro sitting still, with the pieces of tent made out into organized rows. She's got a pole in each hand, a distant look in her eyes. Her clockwork ran down, it seems. 

Rinkah taps her arm.   
“Let me take that,” she says. The poles fall out of Oboro’s fists. Rinkah kneels next to her.   
“I can handle this. Are you hungry? I can fix something.”   
Oboro shakes her head.


	4. Chapter 4

Again, for the seventh time - the eighth? The tenth? The seventeenth? - Rinkah lays out the cloth for Oboro to sit on and arranges the tent to be put up. From her pack she brings out a simple bow and fits it together, testing the elasticity of the string before she pulls it wide and puts it over her head to wear on her body. The arrows in her hand are narrow lengths of sharpened wood fletched with owl feathers, nothing more and nothing less. 

The deer belong to Hoshido, but Oboro doesn’t care. They’ll never notice the excess. In a vindictive flare of feeling she thinks about helping Rinkah take down a forest’s worth, but Rinkah grins and Oboro’s urge subsides. It’s a lot of effort. Too much. It isn’t a feeling she wants to have. She stays by the fire, making knots out of grasses to keep her hands busy. It makes a rhythm that keeps her steady, her eyes open but barely focused. She’s made these patterns since she was a child, but the texture of the grass and the fragility of the medium make them break when she pulls too hard, thinking about something else. 

“Once we get through the trees, we’ll have a day between us and the fire tribe,” Rinkah says. She sets up more wood for Oboro to add to the fire, walking off into the distance. 

Rinkah comes back a couple of hours later by how the shadows have turned. She has three ducks tied on a line, limp and heavy. Oboro doubts that they’ll be able to eat all of the ducks before they go bad. She’s about to offer her help, but the red ooze over the feathers of a duck’s breast make her flinch. Oboro doesn’t offer her help, and Rinkah doesn’t ask for it. She sits by her, plucking the down methodically and placing the tufts in a bag by her crossed knees.

“Once we meet the gate I have to introduce you. We hunt our own food, but I'll do that for you instead.”  
Oboro hums to let Rinkah know she's been understood. She doesn’t feel hungry. She lets her talk even though she doesn’t want to. She has that much courtesy. She hates herself, for having to rely on somebody else like a child. 

More advice falls from Rinkah’s mouth, things that pass out of Oboro’s head a moment later. Oboro stares into the fire and then eats what she’s given. She can barely taste it. 

“We’re close,” Rinkah says, trying to reassure, “Just one more day.”


End file.
